“Could you watch the girls for a moment while I clean up the glass?” Dana asked.
Mrs. Barnett nodded. “Come on, girls. Get ready to go home. Brie!”
“Yes, mama.”
By the time Dana had swept up the glass, everyone but Emma had left the studio. Once again, Dana sat down beside the girl. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Emma shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
Again she nodded.
“It’s all right for you to tell me how the mirror got broken.”
Emma’s gaze remained fixed on the floor.
The sound of footsteps approached. Dana got up, grabbed Emma’s coat from one of the cubbies on the back wall, and handed it to her. “Time to go home.”
“Emma!” Mrs. Jones called.
Emma put on her jacket and silently left the dressing room, her head still hanging.
“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Jones asked, taking in her daughter’s downtrodden demeanor.
“We had an incident,” Dana said simply. “A mirror was broken.”
“Emma, did you—?”
Dana held up a hand to stop her. “It seems that nobody saw what happened.”
“Is that true?” Mrs. Jones asked, sounding upset.
Emma said nothing.
“Emma, why don’t you go and wait for your mother by the door. I’d like to speak to her for a moment.”
Again, Emma said nothing, but silently walked across the shiny wood floor and stopped, leaning her head against the wall, looking as though she expected to be punished.
“What happened?” Mrs. Jones demanded.
“We have a troublemaker in our Broadway Babies class. A very naughty little girl who says mean things, and today she broke the mirror in the washroom. She made it look like Emma did the deed.”
“That’s so unfair. What are you going to do about it?”
“I would like to kick the girl right out on her butt, but I didn’t see what happened, and none of the other girls would tell me.”
Mrs. Jones looked back toward her daughter. “Emma’s been picked on for most of her life. We’re not exactly rolling in dough. She only got to take this class because our next-door neighbor paid for it.” Which explained why Dana had received a money order instead of a check for Emma’s tuition.
“She’s going to have to withdraw when the November payment comes due.”
“That’s a shame. Emma’s the star of the class.”
“I don’t know where she gets it. I have two left feet.”
“She’s more talented and works harder than all the rest of the girls,” Dana told the woman.
“I know she loves it, but I’m a single mom with a crappy job—which I’m lucky to have.”
That meant that even if there was money for Emma’s lessons, it wouldn’t extend to multiple costume changes and shoes for the spring recital. No doubt about it—the whole dance experience wasn’t a cheap one. Some kids—like Dana—really took to it and enjoyed it, but far too many just went through the motions to placate their parents. That’s why the teen classes were so sparsely filled. And yet, those with a true calling—and that included some teenaged boys who came to dance through their high school drama club—were such a pleasure to teach. Emma was one such student.
“Did you know we have a recycling basket in the changing room?”
“What’s that?”
“My own dance teacher, Mrs. Able, did the same thing. Kids grow so fast, and workout clothes can be expensive, that we recycle them. Many of the older girls bring them in. I wash them, sort them by size, and package them up so that the younger students can use them. It looks like Emma’s outgrown hers. I’m pretty sure there are tights and a leotard that will fit her. Come on and have a look.”
She led Mrs. Jones into the dressing room, where she selected a couple of items.
“Please don’t pressure Emma to talk about what happened today. She told me before that she wasn’t willing to be a snitch.”
“But she shouldn’t take the blame for something she didn’t do, either.”
“No, she shouldn’t,” Dana agreed. “And the situation will be resolved before next week’s class.”
Mrs. Jones nodded. “We’ll see you then.” She walked over to her daughter and took her hand. “Come on. We’re going home.”
Dana watched them go.
Yes, one way or another, the solution had to be resolved.
Chapter 6
That week’s pizza was white garlic with double mozzarella, sausage, onions, and peppers for the adults, and a plain cheese slice for Bella, who didn’t seem to notice the discrepancy. And, of course, the main topic of conversation was the trouble at Tutu Much.
“What are you going to do about it?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. Until someone is willing to stand up and tell me what really happened, I don’t feel I can do anything.”
“But you know what happened.”
“I do. But I need the girls to stand up for themselves and do the right thing. I need to figure out a way for them to do it without looking like tattletales.”
“Don’t you think that kind of stuff should come from their parents?”
Dana looked over at her daughter who was happily gnawing on a piece of pizza crust. “Of course. But I didn’t tell my parents everything that happened at school. I learned more than one of life’s lessons at the hands of my first dance teacher, Mrs. Able.”
Jack merely shrugged and reached for another slice.
The phone rang about eight that night, while Dana was getting Bella ready for bed.
“Honey,” Jack called. “It’s Ann Barnett; one of your students’ mom.”
“Can you tuck Bella in?”
“Sure thing.”
A minute later, Dana picked up the phone. “Mrs. Barnett?”
“Hi. I wanted to let you know that my husband and I had a long talk with Brie tonight.”
“And?”
“She said that nasty little Courtney smashed the bathroom mirror and shoved the toilet plunger into Emma’s hand. She told the rest of the girls if they told on her, she’d beat them up. And then she punched Emma for good measure. Brie was quite upset. She made me promise we wouldn’t make her go back if Courtney was going to stay in the class. It’s a promise I intend to keep.”
“I’m so sorry that Brie is afraid to come to class. I promise, Courtney is no longer welcome in my school.”
“Thanks. Brie loves to dance, and for the first couple of weeks, she was quite happy at Tutu Much. She thinks you’re a great teacher.”
“I’m glad she thinks so. Thank you.”
“I guess we’ll see you next Saturday, then.”
“Yes. And please reassure Brianna that she did the right thing by telling you what happened.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Dana hung up the phone, a smoldering anger growing within her. She thought about waiting until the next day to call Courtney’s parents, but decided it couldn’t wait. Grabbing her list of student addresses and phone numbers, she dialed.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Wilkens, this is Dana Milton from Tutu Much dance studio.”
“I’m glad you called. I was going to wait until Monday and call you myself. I understand you had a problem at the school today, and I’m very upset that no one told me about it to my face and that I had to learn of it from my daughter.”
“Oh? What did Courtney tell you?”
“That one of the little hooligans smashed a mirror and threatened the other children.”
“And did she tell you the name of the child who did that?”
“Yes. Emma Jones.”
That was no surprise.
“I can confirm that a mirror was broken, and that one of the children was assaulted, but it wasn’t Emma who caused the problem. It was Courtney.”
“How dare you accuse my child!” Mrs. Wilkens shrieked.
“There were nine wit
nesses.”
“I don’t care what that terrible child told you, my daughter would never act that way.”
“She’s been causing trouble since the first day of lessons and the other students are afraid of her. They don’t want to be in the same dance class as Courtney.”
“Lies—all lies. They’re ganging up on my poor girl.”
“I don’t believe that’s true, and I’m afraid Courtney is no longer welcome at my dance school. I’ll send you a prorated refund in Monday’s mail.”
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” the woman nearly screamed and a loud crack in her ear told Dana she’d probably slammed the phone down in anger.
It wasn’t likely that Mrs. Wilkens would follow through on her threat, and even if she did Jack’s best friend and golf buddy was an attorney. Dana wasn’t going to waste a moment of sleep over it. But now that she’d seen this side of Mrs. Wilkens, it wasn’t surprising to realize where her daughter had learned bullying behavior. Now all Dana had to figure out was how to convince her students that they could feel safe in her class.
* * *
When Saturday afternoon rolled around again, the Broadway Babies were minus one member, but the rest of the girls seemed energized, flitting around the room like butterflies full of energy and giggles. Even Emma and Brianna had recovered their joie de virve once they were sure that Courtney was nowhere around.
Dana clapped her hands and the girls lined up, Brianna and Lauren closing up the gap where Courtney used to stand, but instead of starting the lesson, Dana asked the girls to sit. “We need to have a talk about what happened last week,” she said, and noticed that several of the mothers, including Emma’s, had decided to wait for their daughters instead of running off to do errands and milled around the waiting area, eavesdropping.
“I know we had a terrible incident last week that left everybody feeling upset, and I thought we ought to talk about it.” Nine pairs of solemn eyes stared back at her, all pleasure leached from their expressions.
“We talked about respect in our first class, and I know all of you have tried your best to be gracious and understanding, but one of our members wasn’t very good at that. She’s gone now, but I wanted you to know that she didn’t respect you. She did a terrible thing and then not only blamed it on Emma, but she hurt Emma, too.”
Emma’s eyes blazed and she looked around, as though to check the expressions of those around her, looking for a clue as to who snitched.
“Respect is an admirable character trait, but one thing we didn’t talk about was respecting yourself. There’s a time to keep silent, but there’s also a time to take care of yourself when someone tries to hurt you.”
“Should Emma have punched Courtney back?” Lauren asked.
“That’s not what I mean. But when someone falsely accuses you of doing something bad, it’s okay to tell the truth—to tell your side of the story.”
Emma’s head bowed, her cheeks glowing.
“I know last week that you were afraid of a bully. But you’re here as a team—and you’re going to be the best dancers you can possibly be to make your parents—and yourselves—proud of what you can accomplish. Understand?”
A nine heads bobbed in agreement.
“Okay, let’s stand up and stretch and get ready to dance!”
“YAY!” the girls yelled in unison and practically jumped to their feet.
And then the lesson began.
* * *
The Broadway Babies’ enthusiasm had returned in full force, and they had a great session, incorporating new steps into the routine they’d already learned. By the time class was over, Dana was sure they’d left their fears behind and it seemed that everyone was in a jovial mood.
“That was a nice pep talk you gave the kids,” Mrs. Jones said while Emma changed into her street shoes. “Thanks for not singling Emma out.”
“Would you mind if she and I had a private conversation? I’d like to make sure she understood the point I was trying to make.”
“Be my guest.”
Emma was again the last one to leave the dressing room, and Dana sat down beside her on the bench.”
“That was a good class.”
“Yeah. I gotta go.”
“Not just yet,” Dana said, resting a hand on Emma’s arm to hold her back. “I wanted to ask you a question about what happened last week.”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Why didn’t you defend yourself? That was a terrible thing Courtney did—to not only break the mirror and then blame you, but then hit you really hard and threaten the other girls. You could have told me what happened—but you didn’t. Why?”
Emma shrugged, not bothering to look up. “I didn’t want to get Courtney in trouble.”
“It was her actions that got her in trouble.”
“No, I mean with her Dad. She told us she’d been kicked out of three other dancing schools. That her Dad had spent a lot of money buying her costumes and shoes and hats and that she’d never lasted long enough to dance in a recital. He told her if she got kicked out of here that he would never buy her anything ever again.”
“Do you think that was a fair punishment?”
Emma shrugged. “Courtney’s mom and dad are divorced. Her mama doesn’t let her see him very often. If he got mad at Courtney, he might never want to see her again. That would be terrible.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I don’t have a Dad.”
“I’m so sorry. Can I ask what happened?”
Emma shrugged. “He got hurt. He was in the hospital for a long time, and then he died. It’s a terrible thing when you can’t see your daddy ever again. I didn’t want that to happen to Courtney, too.”
“Oh, Emma,” Dana said, a lump of emotion expanding in her throat. She put her arm around the girl and pulled her close, giving her a hug. “That was very noble of you. I just wish Courtney had treated you with as much respect and compassion.”
Emma shrugged.
Dana patted her arm. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a good kid?”
Emma smiled. “My mom.”
“Moms are good that way.”
Emma got up and grabbed her jacket from the cubby.
“You look cute in your new workout clothes.”
“They fit better,” Emma said. “Thank you.”
“Thank the older girls. They recycled them. And one day you’ll do the same.”
Emma shook her head. “No. My mom said I can’t come back after the end of the month. She said we can’t afford it.”
“She did. Didn’t she tell you about the scholarship?”
Emma frowned. “What’s a scholarship?”
“Just a minute.”
Dana left the changing room and popped into her office to retrieve a big brown envelope. She handed it to Emma.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Emma tore open the top of the envelope and pulled out a frame certificate. “This is to cer…cer….”
“Certify.”
“Certify that Emma Jones has been awarded a one-year s…”
“Scholarship,” Dana supplied.
“Scholarship to the Tutu Much Dance Studio.” She looked up at Dana. “You signed it.”
“That’s right. And that scholarship will also pay for the costumes for our recital in the spring.”
“I can stay for the whole year?” Emma asked, excited.
Dana nodded.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Dana. You made my dream come true.” And Emma hugged her tightly, then turned and ran off into the studio. “Mama, mama! I got a scholarship.”
Dana hurried after her and found Mrs. Jones examining the certificate.
“That’s very generous of you, Miss Dana, but we can’t—”
“Of course you can. I hope that Emma is just the first of many scholarship students here at Tutu Much.”
“Mama, I can come dancing every week—and I get to have a costume for the
recital.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Mrs. Jones said, with shining eyes.
“Why don’t you tell Emma to … break a leg.”
“Break a leg?” Emma asked. “Now you sound like Courtney.”
“It’s an old show business way to wish someone good luck.”
“Why don’t they just say ‘good luck.’”
“Because that’s considered bad luck,” Dana explained.
“I don’t get it,” Emma said, then shrugged. “But if that’s show business, I hope I break both my legs.”
Chapter 7
A week later, the Broadway Babies were all shuffling off to Buffalo when the door to the studio opened and a tall, thin man with dark hair and glasses came in, accompanied by a solemn looking girl. Although the music kept playing, the Broadway Babies saw the couple reflected in the room-length mirror and had all turned to face the newcomers.
Dana walked over to the stereo and hit the power button, plunging the studio into silence. She walked across the wooden floor to meet them. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Tony Wilkens.” He offered her his hand, and they shook. “I believe you know my daughter.” He nudged the girl.
“Hello, Miss Dana,” she said, her eyes focused on her feet.
“Hello, Courtney.”
“Courtney has something she’d like to say to you, don’t you, Courtney?”
“Uh, yes. I’m, uh, sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” he prodded.
“I’m sorry that I broke the mirror in the bathroom.”
“And what else,” her father said.
“And that I blamed it on Emma.”
“And?” he continued.
“And that I hit her.”
“I accept your apology, but I believe you owe one to Emma and the other girls, too.”
Courtney looked up at her father with pleading eyes, but he stared back down at her coldly. Her bottom lip trembled and she swallowed, but then faced her former classmates. “I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough,” said Dad.
“I’m sorry I blamed you for breaking the mirror, Emma. And I’m sorry I hit you.”
“And?” he said again.
“And I’m sorry to everybody else for saying I’d beat you up if you told on me.”
“And?”
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